


Orpheus and Eurydice

by stormsonjupiter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Good Omens Fusion, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Ancient myth, Cerberus - Freeform, Death, Feels, Freeform, Greek myth - Freeform, Hades - Freeform, Hell, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Mythology References, No Beta, No Porn, No Sex, One Shot, Orpheus and Eurydice Myth, Persephone - Freeform, Post Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad, Sad Ending, discorporation, ineffablehusbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 06:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20253631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormsonjupiter/pseuds/stormsonjupiter
Summary: Aziraphale travels to Hell and meets Hades, who has Crowley’s soul.This is my Crowley/Aziraphale Orpheus and Eurydice myth.





	Orpheus and Eurydice

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, major character death. It’s not a happy ending.
> 
> Also I did this super fast with no beta, so apologies for typos, I’ll fix them if I see any.

The road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but the escalator to hell was covered in shit. 

Aziraphale had taken this route once before, when he and Crowley switched bodies. He remembered the increasing heat and sulfuric stench that stung the nose. It made him want to retch, both then and now. 

The journey downward was slow, and the escalator became louder and clunkier the lower he went. Every fiber of his body wanted to run, scramble up the escalator and back to the surface. But he ignored these panicked pangs. Aziraphale kept his composure, folding his hands together as he held his head up high. He had a mission, which was more important than anything else.

He had to get Crowley back. Ideally, in a body, but discorporated was better than nothing.

The demon had always been reckless, especially when behind the wheel of his Bentley. Aziraphale often chastised him for going too fast, but when the angel wasn’t in the car, Crowley would take all kinds of unnecessary risks. On the day Crowley’s body died, there had been a terrible rainstorm. The demon, ignoring the inclimate weather, raced down London streets at his usual speed of 90 miles per hour and hit a truck that was hydroplaning through an intersection. With squealing tires the Bentley spun in circles, before wrapping around a street lamp. Crowley was ejected from the vehicle, flying headfirst through the windshield.

“Dead on Impact” is what the official police report read. Aziraphale was apparently listed as Crowley’s next of kin, and an officer arrived on his doorstep to give the angel the news, asking him to identify the body back at the station.

Aziraphale thus went to the morgue and saw a lifeless and mangled Crowley, stretched out on cold steel. His heart ripped in two at the sight, and he sobbed at the pain Crowley must have felt when he became discorporated. Aziraphale tried, in vain, to miracle his demon back into his corporeal form, but Crowley’s essence must have already gone back to Hell.

Stupidly, they hadn’t made a plan in the event of discorporation. Aziraphale chastised himself for being short-sighted, but knew that Crowley would find his way back to him. He had to.

Aziraphale waited in his bookshop, hoping and praying that Crowley would appear to him. The angel, after all, knew it was possible to roam the earth in a metaphysical form, and inhabit a human body. Perhaps Crowley would find Madame Tracey, Aziraphale thought hopefully. She liked the two of them, she certainly would let Crowley inhabit her body and help them arrive at a plan. Or, maybe he would find Adam, the dear lad, and he’d receive a phone call from Tadfield 666.

But there was no call, no knock at the door, no spirit crying “Angel!” So after a few anxious days, Aziraphale sipped cocoa and began thinking over his next plan, which was to go to Hell, find out exactly where Crowley had gone, and do everything in his power to get the demon back. Hellfire be damned.

So that was what the angel now was doing, slowly descending on the forsaken escalator, in search of his lost demon. Aziraphale finally saw the end of his ride, the floor of hell barely visible through the noxious smoke that polluted the atmosphere. A demon stood at the bottom, looking at him with arms crossed. He wore a tattered black cloak, and his face was obstructed. 

“The ferryman,” Aziraphale whispered to himself as he reached the floor and stepped off the escalator. 

“Angel,” hissed the demon, maintaining a defensive stance. Had the demon decided to summon hellfire, this plan would be over in an instant, but the foreboding figure didn’t move. 

“Hello,” said Aziraphale civilly. “I wish to speak to a higher authority.” 

The demon let out a hiss. “And I wish for angel pricks to stay in heaven,” he retorted. 

Aziraphale swallowed. “I..I have the silver,” the angel said, producing two ancient coins. 

He knew the toll. 

The demon hissed again, but stretched out a bony hand and seized the coins from Aziraphale, inspecting them intently.

“I have paid the toll,” Aziraphale said with a haughty attempt to hide his fear. “Now take me to...”

“This way,” the demon croaked, and he shuffled down the dim lit hallway. Aziraphale steeled himself and followed. He really wished he hadn’t given up the flaming sword.

The cloaked figure opened a locked door and led Azirahale into a dark, crowded hallway. Demons shuffled passed him, staring at him in a mixture of fear and hatred, until finally Aziraphale found himself before the unholy throne of Beelzebub.

“Well,” Beelzebub hummed. “What iszz this?”

The hooded demon stepped aside, and Aziraphale knew he would have to speak to the demons directly. 

“I am here for Crowley,” Aziraphale stated with a front of confidence. 

“The traitor?” Beelzebub replied brusquely, flies swarming about her face. 

Aziraphale swallowed and steeled himself. “Where is he? I know you have him.” 

Beelzebub studied Aziraphale. “I haven’t seen him,” she replied.

Aziraphale, assuming this was a lie, grew angry and unfurled a flask of holy water from his pocket. 

“Listen here, foul demon, you will release Crowley to me. This is not a request. And I am fully prepared to make this as...messy as possible.” He shook the flask and Beelzebub’s eyes flashed with alarm. 

“I haven’t seen him, because he is with Hades,” she replied.

“Hades?” Aziraphale repeated in alarm. That was a name he hadn’t heard in years.

Beelzebub rolled her eyes. “Hades. Receiver of Souls. Husband to Persephone.” 

“Yes, I know who Hades is,” Aziraphale snapped back. “But why is here there of all places.”

A wry smile crept on Beelzebub’s face. “Those who live on earth are forced to wander the underworld,” she said.

“But that’s for mortals—and, well, not all mortals! Crowley is a demon.” Aziraphale exclaimed alarmingly.

“Oh but he’s not a demon anymore, is he?” Beelzebub retorted. “He, and you, are...something else. Gone native. It’s only right that the pair of you wind up spending eternity with the lost souls of earth.”

Aziraphale’s heart raced now. “I demand to see Hades.” He held up the flask.

Beelzebub sighed. “Very well. Dagon, take the angel to the Receiver of Souls.”

Dagon nodded and hobbled forward, guiding Aziraphale through a locked door and into a dark hallway. Unlike the other parts of hell, wherever they were now seemed less crowded, and a bit cooler. The black walls looked like ancient marble slabs that were piled high. 

“Well this is unlike the other parts of hell,” Aziraphale chirped, trying to make smalltalk with Dagon. 

Dagon grunted. “This is Hades’ domain. None of us are allowed back here.” She turned around and looked briefly into Aziraphale’s eyes, adding with a smile, “Unless it’s for a very special reason.”

Aziraphale shuddered. He had never actually met Hades, though there was a brief time some of the populations on earth seemed to fear and venerate him. He was a powerful demon—some said as powerful as Satan, but Aziraphale didn’t believe that. He kept himself cloistered away, hoarding souls of lost humans in what was rumored to be a deep void. 

They walked for some distance, hearing nothing but the tapping of their feet against the stone floor. 

Eventually they came to a sharp turn, and Dagon turned to Aziraphale saying, “right. You’re on your own, from here,” before bolting back down the hallway. 

Aziraphale waited a few moments, hearing a low growl and a soft voice coming from around the corner. He lifted his head, finding his courage, and strode forth. 

He came upon a large chamber, decorated with Corinthian columns made of the same black stone as the walls. At the far side were two grand thrones, and between them was a three-headed dog, who growled at the intruder. 

“Who is it?!” a deep voice boomed speaking in Ancient Greek, and it seemed to make the room shake.

“I am Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern Gate, here to speak to Hades.” Aziraphale’s Greek was rusty, but he made it work.

“An angel!” A soft voice responded in surprise.

‘Persephone,’ Aziraphale thought to himself. He approached the thrones, seeing more clearly the figures who sat in them. They, neither of them, looked the way most demons did, disheveled and rotting. Hades and Persephone, the unholy King and Queen, had an almost ethereal quality about them, which reminded Aziraphale a little of Crowley. 

The three-headed dog snarled. 

“There, there,” Persephone cooed, stroking one of the heads. “It’s only a silly angel.”

“Why are you here, Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern gate?” Hades asked.

“Ah, yes well, there’s a soul you have, and well, you see, it doesn’t actually belong here.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. Well, what happened was—“

“That soul,” Hades interrupted, “belongs to a demon named Crowley.”

“Ahh, yes. So you’re aware.”

“Aware that Crowley is a danger to heaven and hell, and that upon discorporation it was decided he should wander in my void for all of eternity? Of course I’m aware.”

There was a hint of irritation in Hades’ voice. It could have been directed at the angel, but Aziraphale wondered if perhaps the Receiver of Souls didn’t actually want to be responsible for Crowley. Perhaps he might use this to his advantage, and persuade Hades to let his dear demon go.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I would like to take him back now.”

“I do very much mind,” Hades responded hastily. “I have carved out this spot in hell for myself and Persephone, and now all because some conniving demon has upset the balance, my inner sanctum has turned into a veritable circus.”

“Yes, well, if I could just get Crowley we will leave you alone—“

“You say this as though it’s a simple miracle, to pull a soul out of the void!” Hades roared, and fire ignited in the corners of the chamber. 

“Well—“ Aziraphale started, but he was truly out of his element. He had no idea how this void worked. It was clearly operating outside the rules of reality, and if it was strong enough to contain a demon, Aziraphale knew that there must be some powerful magic at play. 

Perhaps the rumors were true, and Hades was as powerful as Satan.

“Hmmmm,” Persephone hummed, attracting both Aziraphale’s and Hades’ attention. “My Love, perhaps we ought to give him a chance.”

Hades lifted his brows in surprise. “Ought we?”

“Look at the poor dear,” Persephone murmured. “He reminds me of you when I leave here every spring.” 

Aziraphale had heard something about this. Persephone left Hell for 6 months out of the year in order to see to the creation of more souls. It didn’t sound exactly bad when you got right down to it, but of course the logic was that the more souls there were on earth, the more Hades could collect. It was an elegant and devious kind of symbiotic relationship between Persephone, creating life only so it could die, and Hades, collecting the lost souls Persephone helped bring into existence.

Hades looked back at Aziraphale and eyed him up and down. The angel suddenly felt very vulnerable—something about Hades was, indeed, very powerful. 

“If it makes you happy, my dear, Hades sighed. He stood up and great black wings unfurled, larger than Crowley’s. Aziraphale gasped. Hades lifted his hands, and a blackness suddenly appeared, with small swirling stars orbiting inside.

Hades looked pained as he dipped a hand inside and plucked one of the stars. A ripping sound was heard, and he screamed in agony. 

The cavern shook, and several feathers fell from Hades’ wings. Persephone, wide-eyed, watched the entire vignette unfold while licking her lips and clapping her hands.

Hades pulled his fisted hand out of the blackness, and there was a yellow glow coming out from between his fingers. Aziraphale didn’t have to ask what it was—he knew it was Crowley.

Suddenly a door opened in the side of the wall, with a steep pathway just barely visible on the other side of the threshold.

“Follow the path to the surface, and don’t look back,” Hades instructed. “Once your reach the top, Crowley’s soul will be released. If you do look back, however, the demon will be mine forever.”

“But can’t I see him?” Aziraphale pleaded, peering at Hades’ hand.

“You mustn’t, if you wish for him to walk the surface ever again,” was Hades’ enigmatic reply. Aziraphale opened his mouth, but shut it quickly. It seemed an odd rule, but then again, Hades himself seemed odd. 

Whatever magic he wielded that allowed him to keep souls was certainly powerful, and powerful magic did have tendencies to backfire in unexpected ways. 

“So, I’ll just,” Aziraphale pointed up the pathway. “Go this way.”

“Yes,” said Hades, turning back to his throne. 

“And remember celestial one,” Persephone added. “Don’t look back.”

Aziraphale began the ascent. The pathway was narrow and dark, and he had to feel he way around. He considered summoning a light source, but feared that doing so would ruin things. He felt that he would have to do this the hard way.

He wondered if Crowley’s spirit was behind him. “Crowley?” He asked after a while, but he heard no response. 

“Ah, well, of course you wouldn’t be able to talk my dear, if you even are behind me,” he continued. The pathway became very narrow, and Aziraphale found that he had to crawl over the stone, dirtying his trousers and scraping the palms of his hands. 

“Really, Crowley, this whole ordeal is ridiculous, and I fully expect an apology the instant we reach the surface.” No one responded, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if anyone was behind him. He was tempted to look, but caught himself, and refocused his eyes to the blackness in front of him.

It felt like hours of climbing over rock. At times he’d muse aloud about what he and Crowley would do once they returned to the surface. 

“We should go to Adam directly, and find out if he has the ability to create a new body for you. Or, alternatively, we can to sneak back to the morgue and see if I can miracle you back into your old body. Though I dare say, it’ll require quite the miracle. You really did a number on yourself, my dear fellow.”

Aziraphale kept rambling, but no one responded. He eventually stopped talking as the climb became steeper, the rocks sharper. 

After several more hours he finally heard a noise. It was a low, rumbling sound, and he realized it was the surface. Cars...or perhaps water...a river or waves... it was hard to tell.

“My dear, we are getting close now! Oh I’m so looking forward to seeing you again!” 

Again Crowley didn’t respond, but Aziraphale had to have hope that he was there, silently following behind. 

His pace quickened, and he grew excited at the thought of having Crowley back  
with him safe and sound.

He was close now, so close to the surface, he could smell the fresh air and hear more  
clearly the rushing water. His heart pumped wildly and his had reached up, sunlight hitting his skin.

“A-Aziraphale,” a voice croaked behind him, and the angel, forgetting himself, whirled around. 

And he saw Crowley, his demonic spirit was translucent and his yellow eyes were big with terror. Aziraphale’s heart leapt with excitement before he realized the mistake he’d made.

“Crowley!” he cried, reaching out to the apparition that swirled into nothing, the demon mouthing a silent word as he disappeared from Aziraphale’s sight.

“Crowley, oh Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, tears streaming down his face.

“What have I done?”

But nothing answered back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Most of my stuff is explicit, but I also enjoy doing Az/Crow in one-shot sad scenes. Comments and requests are always appreciated!


End file.
